


The Man Who Killed Winter

by ledeuxiemesexe



Category: FC Barcelona - Fandom, Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Future, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2016-11-27
Packaged: 2018-09-02 15:29:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8672719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ledeuxiemesexe/pseuds/ledeuxiemesexe
Summary: In the beginning, winter was the overpowering emotion, but change was a-coming.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Setting: post atomic nuclear winter, 200 years from the conflagration. Protected, aseptic cities hold most of the earth's population, living controlled lives in controlled environments. At the outskirts, tribes of free men roam, under no laws but their own, facing the -40 degrees C cold and all the problems of self sustenance in such weather. 
> 
> A group of 4 scientists and researchers is sent to analyze the life of such a tribe and make good use of their survival techniques. The story starts with their arrival in the community known as Shangri-la.
> 
> A/N: - loosely based on the sci-fi book L'Homme qui tua L'hiver by Christian Léourier.

The snowmobile stopped on the top of the hill. Overlooking a narrow valley with huts and tents, the hill was the last civilized stop before the Krkic research party took a dive in the cold and harsh life the Tribes lead.

“It's a miracle we even got here,” Martin complained, looking in dread out the window of the comfortable and warm vehicle.

“Surviving the road-trip alone in this freezing climate is a feat I'm not sure anyone else back home would achieve,” Lionel commented in a bored tone.

“You're both right. However, now we must forget where we come from and how good and simple life is there. Keeping thinking about it would only depress us and lower our drive,” Bojan explained, trying to sound as exuberant as he could. 

As the group's leader and expert in communication, he had to encourage the other 3 men who had been sent together with him on a mission nobody really knew the real value of. He looked at Lionel and at Martin and finally at Maxwell, the one who had been quiet for most of the trip and then decided it was time to get the show on the road.

“And what we must remember is that this mission is going to give us a new perspective on life and help us improve conditions for everyone. They're thinking of building some open space settlements, should the research in Shangri-la prove successful. So come on, show some excitement, we're doing the first on field research in over 100 years!”

Martin and Lionel mumbled their enthusiasm, but Maxwell remained perfectly silent. He knew very well it was the most pointless mission possible, assembled and funded by Bojan's Senator father, who wanted his son to do something else than mope around with nothing to do. 

As secret agent appointed by the political police, Maxwell was well aware that he was in fact in charge and had to keep an eye on the other 3. Hence, he had taken the role of the keen observer, of little words and even less action. He was going to let the other men do their business and hope they didn't overstep their attributions. 

“Alas, let us get going, we must make contact before the night falls. We haven't come such a long way to chit chat, while the Tribesmen discover us by themselves!”

And opening the gliding door, Bojan let himself out. Lionel, Maxwell and finally Martin made it out in not as bold moves, cautiously looking down at the valley below them. Feeling a little awkward in their snowsuits, layers of the finest thermoprotect fabric, the party of four descended slowly, their advance burdened by their lack of physicality, the unusual clothing and the snow itself, the unique weather element none of them had been exposed to before. 

 

*

 

When he had first seen the awkwardly dressed men, in those white bubbly suits with shiny buttons and handles all over, Zlatan had been startled, because he was well aware anyone coming from the Cities was only going to cause trouble.

Hunting the tribesmen for fun had stopped only 50 years ago, when the World Government understood the tribesmen were people too, just like the Citizens were, and also had no real means to protect themselves. 

The truce negotiated by the great Johan, the man that had fearlessly lead the tribes to battle against the Citizens and had finally obtained the much needed peace was still in place and it had been quiet, the Tribes being allowed to live on unperturbed. 

So this party, despite their obvious young age and their claim that they had come in peace, and wanted only to observe the Tribe and learn from them, that their objective was purely scientific and that they would not disturb the usual life of the Tribe, had really set all his alarms off.

And so he had been firm, perhaps a little too harsh when he had told that … boy off. No, they could not settle on Tribe's grounds and no they could not barter food and supplies from the Tribe and no, they could not drop by at any given time and interfere in their daily activities.

He had been intimidating and he was well aware the crew's captain – why would they put someone so young in charge? - had sensed the negative vibe and had tried to be defiant in his humiliating retreat, in a way to save face in front of his men. 

So, knowing that they would not interfere more than he allowed it and that they feared him and would be cautious, he had calmed down and even began to hope this would turn out to be just a mild inconvenience and it would end as soon as the Citizens realised their attempt was futile.

So why was he feeling rather strange whenever he saw that Bojan kid leave defeated back to their camp before each sunset?

 

*

 

_Captain's log. Day one._

_I don't know how will I manage to stay professional with these thugs. Their leader is such a despicable man and tried to outmuscle me in such an obvious way. Of course, it IS his tribe and his land, but it’s all relative, as the entire territory belongs to the Government of the 12 Regions and as citizen of Region Europe, I have more rights over this piece of land than he does._

_But I decided to be more diplomatic about it and take his threats with a grain of salt. For the moment, it is just four of us and rather unarmed too, and the soonest the Soldiers could be here is 3 days, so I thought I should not aggravate him, the guy seems to have a screw loose._

_Despite Lionel's protests that I've been weak and let Zlatan wipe the floor with me 'like a pussy' – his words not mine, and Martin's complaints that given the circumstances, the mission is compromised already, I think not all of it is lost._

_We just have to be agile and weasel our way into the Tribe, get the rest of them to like us first, welcome us with open arms, rather than with fear and then we'll get things done. This is why I'm glad Maxwell came along after all. His silence can be infuriating at times, but in the current situation, he's my only ally._

_Personally, I do not feel any different. I know everyone told me some adventure would jog me out of this bleak state of mind, but so far I feel nothing. I want to do well in this mission, I want to lead my team to proper, important discoveries and I do have a drive for achieving this, but nothing excites me._

_Even having to confront that brute did not shake me in any way. But it is barely day one and the drive to Shangri-la has been rather uneventful, I should be more patient._

_However, the fact that I'm not even hoping to cure this depression should worry me. I may have become too jaded to even worry about this....which is why I accepted to captain this mission to begin with._

_Plan for tomorrow is to make contact with the villagers properly, with the regular people, not just that stuck up big nosed leader._

_End of log_

 

_Captain's log. Day Six._

_I never thought this was going to be easy. I never imagined the Tribesmen would welcome us with open arms, but such hostility is definitely unwarranted. We are unarmed and never made any threatening comments, yet all the men we passed by looked at us like we has just raped their wives or daughters and that blacksmith fellow kept waving his hammer at us in an obvious attempt to look menacing._

_At this point, I'm not sure if this is their usual behaviour or they are really trying to drive us off at the request of their leader. And if it's not really surprising that the Tribesmen are doing their best to deter us from our mission, I am disgusted with my fellow Citizens behaviour._

_Lionel and Martin mutter things under their breath all the time, despite being fully aware that their receivers are on and that I can hear them. They do things I request them to half arsed and don't really bother that their apathy is endangering the mission._

_Maxwell is silent. He helps out, especially when it comes to aiding our survival in this harsh weather, like preparing our own food, but when it comes to helping out and gathering valuable information, he looks at me like I'm supposed to do all of it._

_I asked him if he has any clue why Martin and Lionel are suddenly in such a bad funk, since both of them were lively, active people at home and he told me it must be snow depression, all the cold is eating away at their energy, since they use it all up just for staying warm and walking._

_I for one, don't believe it. They are just lazy bums. I feel all right, but maybe because it was I who was inactive before and the new environment challenges me._

_It is cold, but if all of us tried harder to get to know the Tribesmen and decipher all their activities and haggle with them for samples of their belongings, I'm sure one would feel warmer and accomplished, which gives a good feeling._

_But with them all not even bothering, of course there is no progress._

_I am not going to give up hope, today was not a good day, but if I work hard, tomorrow will be better._

_End of log_

 

_Captain's log. Day Ten._

_I feel so tired, so dysfunctional. I've been struggling, really struggling, to make this work, but it seems that everything is against me. And I won't say against us, because my colleagues are responsible for this lack of success just as much as Zlatan and his obstacles and interdictions._

_The Citizens are giving me no support at all, as I try so hard to make this mission worth it and gather information. For instance, today I decided that the one way I could get the Tribesmen to accept us, well, me, as their kin, was to help them out with erecting this barn. First I tried to convince by colleagues to take part, but they all declined, saying they did not sign up for this, and that I had no right to demand physical efforts from them._

_Then I decided to go by myself, thinking that if they saw me coming by myself, they'd understand my friendly gesture more. Of course, I was wrong. I had barely said hello to 3 of the Tribesmen I had met several times, that Zlatan popped up out of nowhere and told me to mind my business._

_I figured it was a good chance to prove my good intentions, so I told him I wanted to offer my help. But he laughed at me and calling me puny and pathetic, he pushed me out of the way. I wanted to fight back, but he's like twice my size. So I had no option but to beg, to plead to let me help them._

_He laughed at me and kept calling me a spoiled brat and that I would under no circumstances, be allowed to meddle with their business. But I could not back out. I had told my traitorous crew that I would be gone the whole day and I could not come back before dinner time._

_I could not afford further humiliation. So I stayed the whole day in the cold, having to listen to taunts and freezing my ass off. With the exception of teasing and the cackling, I was completely ignored. Of course, what made matters worse, after about two hours, when the workers were taking a break, Zlatan came to me and told me to go, that there was no need to stay out like that._

_He was mocking me, by adopting a sweet, concerned tone, so I could only respond with harshness. I told him that I'd not be wasting my time and freezing if he had allowed me to help out. He had the nerve to shake his head._

_I hate him. I hate this expedition already. But we're supposed to stay here at least 6 months and it's barely the tenth day. Quitting is for losers, freezing is for morons._

_So I must endure. But to be quite honest, I feel quite desolated, and my state is not improving at all. I know full well why I was assigned this task, and I honestly thought it would help, but the lack of any sort of success is killing me._

_If anything, it's only making matters worse. But as they say, tomorrow is another day._

_End of log._

 

_Captain's log. Day Fourteen_

_It's been a fortnight of sustained efforts on my part without any visible progress. My colleagues hate me and never try to help out anymore. The villagers are hostile and have become threatening, instead of getting used to my presence, they have grown more and more annoyed with me._

_And I feel like we're seriously wasting time. I wish we could go back already, this place is no longer the opportunity filled location I had hoped would offer the world a new living solution._

_I had such high hopes, all ruined because.....I'm trying really hard to put myself in their shoes and understand why they're rejecting any sort of interaction, but I cannot find any reasonable one. I know about the wars and the hunting and the Great Johan, but the world has changed since._

_Frankly, I feel overwhelmingly upset with this and the will to get up, get dressed and go out there, just to be rejected once more is sometimes completely fabricated. I have lost all desire to make this work and it's only inertia that gets me going, and that is sure going to run on empty soon._

_It doesn't help that Lionel and Martin and as of yesterday Maxwell too have sort of rebelled against me and no longer recognize my authority. I tried to explain that the last thing we need is internal friction, but it just fell on deaf ears._

_Maxwell assumed leadership, and not just because he's older. And Lionel immediately changed allegiance, if before he was best buds with Martin, now he's acting like he's Maxwell's lap dog. This may not be appropriate for the Captain's log – but then again, I'm no longer captain (officially) – but I think they're sleeping together. Maybe things would be easier between us if I slept with Martin, who seems to plain old hate me, but...I'd rather not._

_Anyway, this is going to be my last entry, mission related anyway. I am fully aware of my failure and that the mission is compromised, but I shall keep going to the village, just in case. I feel horrible, worse than when I left, if possible and I cannot wait to get back home, whenever that might be...._

_End of Log_

 

*

 

The petulant kid being nosy and obnoxious, in his attempt to be helpful was making Zlatan lose sleep. Everything he had so carefully planned out since he had become the Leader was falling to pieces, as the punk was driving him over the edge.

There was something about him, that made Zlatan both want to smother him – maybe the too good for you attitude – and cuddle him – maybe his young age and the definite sorrow in his set brow, visible even with the mask he wore to protect his face from the biting cold.

When he had come back after that day when he had stood all day on the sidelines of the new barn construction, he could not believe it. He was sure that entire day spent in the terrible weather, being mocked and laughed at would have gotten him to understand that he was not wanted, nor needed in the Village.

But he had been proven wrong. The young man had come again and was desperately trying to talk to people and obtain permission to come inside their huts, to observe their daily routine. Of course, he had instructed everyone to not allow the Citizens to have their way, it would have been insulting to the memory of the great Johan and the thousands of Tribesmen that had died because of the Cities' dwellers.

And when Bojan had come to his hut, eyes watery behind the see-through mask and had asked to be allowed to at least observe him, something had snapped in him. He couldn't send the poor fellow away, it was obvious that he was lost and struggling. But he could not allow himself to be soft either.

He had to decide quickly how brutal to be in his his dismissal, but seeing the boy remove his mask, allowing a first real glance at his youthful, beautiful face, something stirred into Zlatan's soul and as he listened to the pleas and green eyes, so sad, drilled into his, his resistance melted away little by little.

Eventually, he told the boy he could stay, if he chose to be quiet and just sit in a corner. He then proceeded to the detailed and delicate job of crafting the hilt of his battle club, encrusting small bits of metal alongside the wooden body to strengthen it.

Most of the clubs the villagers used were made by one person, Davids, but Zlatan preferred to make his own for two reasons: firstly, he had been a wood craftsman as he was growing up and he had good skills with it, and secondly, his club was almost twice the size of the others and Davids was a small, albeit strong man, and would've not been good enough with it. 

So that day, the entire day, Zlatan carved and worked on his wooden club carefully studied by Bojan, who despite the cold near the entrance, and not wearing the protective face mask, did not dare to come closer and sit nearer the fire. He sometimes muttered words into the receiver he held in the palm of his hand, as if he was recording his thoughts, which Zlatan first wanted to object to, but then decided against.

When it was dark and Zlatan had finished, he showed Bojan the club and felt somehow very proud when the boy congratulated him, looking in awe back and forth at the club and at him. He little tight smile and the thank you warmed his heart and Zlatan felt surprisingly happy to have achieved that.

Then Bojan left and Zlatan had to return to his other duties, those of a tribe leader. But even if nothing had actually happened, he felt things had changed.

The next day, Bojan returned. This time, he made no effort to hide that he was coming to see him, Zlatan and that he had not wasted time to try and get in touch with the other villagers.

Normally, this would have infuriated Zlatan, to notice the nerve of the kid, who now seemingly imagined that he could just stroll into his hut and hang out, bothering him, but strangely enough, he felt flattered that the Citizen was interested in him.

Of course, he didn't acknowledge his presence until the boy politely asked for permission. This time, he settled closer to him and to the fire and just sat there, his green eyes searching Zlatan, to the point of almost rude staring. But he discovered he didn't mind, he enjoyed the attention he was getting. 

So, urged by a deeper instinct, he started explaining the boy what each of the objects adorning the walls and sat in piles on the floor was used for and before he could even realise he was giving the Citizen exactly the inside intel he had decided not to, he was caught up in his own speech and demonstration of how the items worked and the boy had come to life, asking questions.

Communication felt good, it came naturally, and seeing a small smile spread on the youngster's face warmed his heart.

 

*

 

_Bojan's Log. Day Seventeen._

_Breakthrough. I am pretty sure I have gained Zlatan's trust. As I have been saying all along, it just required a little patience. Today he has been so nice to me, to the cause, and has answered almost all my questions. I feel that we're on course for proper research and as soon as the leader will be malleable enough, I will probably gain access to the other facilities and speak with the other Tribesmen._

_There is one problem, though. As you've noticed, this is no longer Captain’s log. I shouldn't be wasting the recording device with my rambling, but I feel I need to keep this a little bit organized, just to make sure I keep track of everything that's happening._

_So, the issue is that even though I have explained Maxwell that I'm on good terms with Zlatan now and that, even if a bit delayed, we could still carry out our original mission, he had made his mind. Not only that I will not be reinstated as Commander, but he will not restore the mission._

_He had told me, just a few minutes ago and in no equivocal terms, that he had received new orders and that this mission has become a survival test for us Citizens in this harsh environment, no longer a research one. I demanded he showed me the transcripts, but seems I – nor Lionel and Martin – have clearance to that security level._

_So basically, he has hijacked the mission, my mission, and decided to sit on his ass and do nothing all day. And won't budge for nothing._

_This shall not deter me. I am doing this for myself now, more than in the beginning. And when we get back home, this log will show the truth._

_I really am feeling confident. When he wants to be, Zlatan can be rather charming. I feel I might have misjudged him, after all he was just trying to protect his Tribe from intrusion. This is going to pan out just fine._

_End of log._

_Bojan's log. Day Twenty._

_Things have progressed, and fast. Not in the direction I have imagined though, but right now, the mission and gaining information is the least of my concerns. What I am experiencing right now is very personal and the changes I feel happening inside me are deep. Zlatan and I are actually bonding, our past misunderstandings aside. We spent the last few days talking, just talking, as I watched him work and sometimes, he would actually require my help._

_Doing useful things, like holding things down for him, so he could hammer nails in them or handing him various tools, names of which he would explain to me like to a small child, in no mocking tone, has given me a sense of purpose that I have not felt in a very long while, if ever._

_I know I should try to steer this budding friendship towards achieving the results I came here for, but I feel that one way or another, I am learning about the Tribe anyway, so there's no need to force things. And to be quite honest, with Max, Lionel and Martin not really giving a shit and spending almost all day in hibernation, I hardly want to do anything for the supposed grand mission, but more for myself._

_So, this is really different from everything I've ever done and I can only say I like where this is going. Maybe all I really needed in my life was a real friend and by that I mostly mean a real person, not someone stuffed with drugs and other chemicals, someone who would have genuine life experiences and recount them to me._

_For that reason, even watching Zlatan making arrows a whole afternoon, being able to touch them and feel the pointy steel with my bare hand and listen to him tell me hunting stories makes me feel more complete than the most intense life enhancing trip ever would._

_The cold fades in his hut and the days pass quickly, even if I don't do too much physical work, studying him apply himself to his trade is fulfilling._

_I am keeping these recordings for myself now. To always have a memory of this trip into wilderness, into the real world, and if they'd prove useful or not, then fine._

_End of log._

 

*

 

Zlatan couldn't really hide the sweet disposition he was in, and he didn't even have any qualms that it derived from the last few days spent teaching Bojan the way around the Tribe. If he was being honest with himself, he could agree that the new emotion he was feeling every time he saw the boy smiling had clouded his better judgment and he was allowing the Citizen to get too close.

But on the other hand, he was pretty sure the initial mission Bojan had professed had long been abandoned and there was no real peril in sharing a bit of his knowledge with the jaded boy. For some reason, Zlatan had sensed the mission was no longer supported and that Bojan had stopped being a potential threat, apart from triggering his deepest feelings.

He had realised that despite the young age and the baby face, he had been through so much, and had experienced a million humiliations and hurts, things he – living a simple and hard life – could not even fathom, things that had carved a hole in his young soul.

And now that the youngster had stopped being bossy and annoying, all he wanted was to show him another kind of life, despite of the risks that Bojan would use the information against the Tribe, because he felt that was right.

Thus, he was completely excited with the prospect of taking Bojan for his first hunt, in the Silver Woods. The last couple of days, he had been working on adjusting one of his wolfskin jumpsuits for Bojan's use, since hunting demanded a lot of mobility the thermoprotect suits didn't offer. It was a lot of adjusting, since Bojan was almost a foot shorter, but he was almost ready.

Finding himself giddy while sewing as late as middle of the night was definitely a sign that he had grown soft and silly, but making Bojan see and understand the life of the Tribe seemed to be his challenge, as otherwise the Tribes were at peace with one another, Shangri-la was particularly well stocked on food and the Truce was still in place.

He had nothing better to do than dedicate his days to the lonesome kid with eyes so sad, so that was what he was doing.

When later that day Bojan came by and Zlatan, most casually, invited him to the hunt, there was one prolonged moment of silence, Bojan choking on words of gratitude and Zlatan unable to snap out of the haze the boy's excitement had driven him in.

When he offered Bojan the suit and simply told him it had been lying there, Bojan was again, overwhelmed, but had the presence of mind to not enquire how and why would a jumpsuit his size be just lying around Zlatan's hut.

Feeling excited and truly joyful, Bojan removed his heavy and uncomfortable suit. He had been weary to try the animal skin contraption Zlatan had made for him at first, since he wasn't sure at all it would keep him warm.

But Zlatan assured him that even if it would not keep him particularly warm, the intense exercise hunting wolves constituted would sure get his blood flowing and keep him at a reasonable temperature. And once he tried it on, the soft fur clinging to the white linen of his underarmour, Bojan feeling light as a feather and finally able to move around freely, he realised the Tribesman had been right.

Throughout dressing, he hadn't failed to notice that Zlatan had been looking at him intently, trying to cover his grin and own excitement and somehow that made Bojan feel a little flustered.

The drive towards Silver Woods on what seemed to be a very primitive version of an open-top snowmobile was uneventful, Bojan clinging onto Zlatan for dear life, freezing wind gusting past his face and making him shiver. He could endure the cold, because the other man was there, because his mere presence made him feel less cold and desperate, because they were going on a real adventure, nothing like the hundred of trips Bojan had taken via the implant television channels, and finally, because he wanted to prove the other man he was worth his attention.

Leaving their ride behind, they slithered through the gigantic trees, covered in frost all over, and soon Zlatan found the tracks he had been looking for.

“Wolf skin is the most resistant and keeps most warm, hence we need to hunt a couple every few months. Also, they are the only natural enemy of the elks we hunt for food, and well, let's just say that I’d rather be eating the elk myself than the wolves.”

It had just hit Bojan that he was going to attempt to kill wolves with bows and arrows and that the whole expedition was entirely dangerous and crazy. Maybe Zlatan wanted to get rid of him this way? Maybe he had been foolish to believe he had obtained the leader's favours, when all he was preparing with his nice behaviour was a trap?

He wasn't even sure if Zlatan had asked him if he had ever used a weapon (even though he had and he had killed too, he was pretty sure Zlatan had not asked and hence didn't know) which made the endeavour even more preposterous.

He was backing away slowly, trying to remember the way back to the snowmobile when he felt a body fly by him. He took in the sight of the gigantic beast fallen just a few feet away, an arrow sticking out of its back and then finally – and rather ashamed – looked at Zlatan, crossbow still prepared for another shot.

“You have to be careful. Wolves sense human presence a good few miles away and are very stealthy. They are great at surprise attacks. Prepare your crossbow and let us get deeper in the woods. The plan is to kill four today.”

Bojan still stared at the dark furred creature that was obviously still breathing, his heart drumming in his chest with the most intense fright he had ever felt. He armed and shot an arrow at it, fear dissipating slowly.

Zlatan smiled and gestured him to proceed towards the heart of the woods. And Bojan finally moved from the spot he had seemed rooted in and together made their way past trees and into the unknown.

 

*

 

_Bojan's log. Day Twenty-three._

_The hunting trip was so rich, and so many things happened. First, Zlatan saved my life and helped me out throughout the day. Then...I actually pursued a gigantic wolf and killed it myself and I never thought doing something so primitive, so basic, like hunting for my own food or for my own clothes would make me feel so intensely alive._

_And then...then there was another thing that happened. After we were done with the wolves, Zlatan took us next to a trap he had set a few days before and we found a deer. We would be eating it, he said and we camped there._

_It was just him and I and the white wilderness surrounding us. Next to me, the dead beast awaited to be skinned and quartered and the adrenalin of the hunt, of the pure emotion I had experienced was still screaming inside me._

_And he was sitting next to me, a wide grin plastered all over his face, his eyes searching mine with so much intensity and something else, something I had never seen on anyone else's face, in anyone else's eyes._

_And that was when I could no longer keep it, bottled up, that's when I cracked and told him everything that I had kept for myself, how the City is a hole of despair, how everything is so easy and simple and how everyone's life is drawn out from infancy and depends on social status._

_I told him how everything is free or almost free, and that even he poorest most humble Citizen has access to some sort of drugs and implant television trips. And I told him how everyone is like a zombie, living in a perfectly blissful, innocent, risk free life, and it's one in a million who notices the cracks in this perfect picture._

_And I told him I felt I was one of those people, born under the wrong sign, cursed from when I was little and I told him how I would feel the emptiness devour me each day, every day and how the government supplied drugs were not enough to fill the void in my life and how I resorted to ancient concoctions that only damaged my poor equilibrium further, only offering me a few hours of something different, only to further highlight the barren everyday existence afterwards_

_And I told him that this whole mission was supposed to help me, to offer me a unique experience and that finally, with his aid, I was feeling something, my senses no longer numbed, despite of the blistering cold._

_And I told him, with deep shame, how besides the drugs, there was only one other thing that made me feel whole, or rather, alive and that was random sexual experiments, fucking for the sheer reason of filling a few hours of my time, of anyone's time, for feeling a heartbeat and a life coupling with yours._

_And I told him all about my depraved shenanigans, fucking men, women, men and women, old men, boys younger than me, fucking them gently, fucking them rough, fucking my friends, of equal social status or poor souls we picked off the streets, paying for sex, acting like a whore to be paid for sex, hurting the others just to stop hurting on the inside or asking to be hurt just to replace the void with a more worldly pain._

_I bared it all, shame leaving me as I explained in gory detail each and every one of my most despicable fucks, with the sole hope, fact that I realised as I scooted closer to him during my story, that he too would take pity of me, like many of my victims had, and would fuck me with what I imagined to be a dick very much in proportion with his giant body._

_And as I had finished my often gruesome story, getting myself aroused with my own infamy, he did the one thing I would've never imagined anyone would do, after hearing such a very explicit plea to be taken: he pulled me in a hug, wrapping his strong arms around me, and pressing his chest to mine._

_And instead of ripping my jumpsuit off, which I would've gladly accepted to happen, -40 cold or not, he just slid his hand under my hoodie and petted my hair, in soothing moves, massaging my scalp and whispering words in his language. And then, then he just held me tight, for minutes, for hours, for what seemed to be days, weeks, years, eons._

_And when he finally let go of me, my cheeks were wet and yet I wasn't upset, sad or hurt, there was another kind of feeling bubbling in my chest, for which I could only be grateful for._

_We didn't speak too much after this, just ate in a comfortable silence and then we packed the wolves we had hunted and made our way back to Shangri-la. He left me at my camping site and the promises of his hug spoke to me._

_When I made my way inside, Maxwell had the nerve to confront me, to ask where were my customary uniform and my receiver and how come I had been offline for most of the day, when it was my duty to never break communication with the headquarters._

_I tried to explain him as well as I could that I had been on a hunting trip with Zlatan, that I was good friends with him now and how I would be spending the rest of my days in his company. Maxwell didn't comment too much, but he looked displeased._

_Now is the worst moment for him to start caring about this thing. And I told him that, as well as other things, that he was not my boss and that he had taken over the mission with absolutely no legitimate reason._

_And then I locked myself in my pod and have been recording this, the only reason why I returned to the HQ to be honest. Tomorrow I will talk to Zlatan and ask him if I could move in with him. I no longer want to be a Citizen. I never belonged with them, nor in the confinement of the City. So it's best that I just leave and hopefully one day I could be accepted by the Tribe and become one of them._

_End of log._

 

*

 

When Bojan didn't come by the next day, Zlatan was upset at first. He had imagined they had reached the level when the boy would seek him and want him just as much as he did, a level where they had grown comfortable enough with one another to be able to open up and admit to their feelings.

He felt sad that the boy was too hardened by his life in the City, by the drugs and the mindless sex, and could no longer appreciate the simple life and gentle emotions he was offering from the bottom of his heart.

He even regretted not giving the boy what it was obvious that he craved, that he had not had the inspiration to make him his fully, instead of just hugging him most innocently.

The whole day, he was restless and kept pacing up and down his hut, every noise of someone approaching making him hope it would be Bojan and every realisation that it was not crushing him. He was rude with everyone coming to his hut, because they weren't Bojan and he was of no use to them, as he would only curse and tell them to leave him alone.

By the time the night fell and it became painfully obvious that Bojan wasn't coming, Zlatan was an absolute mess, unable to control himself anymore, as rage took over and he began trashing his hut, throwing things about randomly and trying to destroy everything Bojan had touched.

When he calmed down, depression kicked in and he defeatedly crawled into bed to sleep his sadness away. He cursed himself for his weakness and for not being strong enough to steer clear of this mess, of falling for someone who would never love him back, someone that seemed most likely unable to love. 

 

*

 

The next day didn't bring any good news, as hours passed and the boy still failed to make an appearance. Having been around from day one, without missing once, even if only to whimper at Zlatan's interdictions, it seemed rather odd that he was absent now, of all days.

He began to think something was up and that maybe it was not by Bojan's own will that he wasn't coming. All of the anger of the day before subsided, replaced by worry. He had no clue what kind of ties Bojan had with the other 3 members of his crew, and the boy had been rather cryptic regarding the outcome of the mission and what would happen once they had to go back. So his absence now felt forced, like something was up. 

He was never a man of assumptions and impulses, but this time, he felt that this supposition was correct with every fiber of his body. There was only one thing to do, he could go there and investigate. Once he decided to go, he felt infinitely better. It was as if the night sleep, as tormented as it had been, had helped him see things more clearly. 

Arriving at the Citizens' dome, a carbon fiber all white contraption, he knocked gently. There was no answer for the longest time, but finally the shortest of the boys' face could be seen through the peep hole that had appeared in the door.

“What do you want.”

“I want to see Bojan, there is something I need to give him.” he had brought Bojan's thermoprotect suit with him, just in case he needed an excuse.

“Bojan is not available right now.”

The peep hole disappeared immediately. Zlatan started pounding on the door, his suspicions pretty much confirmed. 

He knew trying to break in the perfectly closed dome would be futile, any attempt to put a hole in the resistant material with his club or crossbow would be useless, but he knew that was his only option. 

He could hear yells and cries from inside and that determined him, so he began shouting Bojan's name, hopeful that the boy would understand that someone was there for him, that he was there to save him and take him away from the horrors the civilized world represented. 

As Bojan responded, he managed to locate him and began beating down that side of the dome furiously, using all his strength.

To his surprise, after what had seemed a whole hour of pounding with his club, a dent began to form and he increased the pace, sweat dripping down his neck and spine from the effort. 

When the 3 inch wide hole appeared in the dome, he let out a mighty yell, a warrior yell and continued. It was a few minutes later, when the hole had grown bigger, that he could see Bojan, crouched on the other side of the cubicle.

“I'm going to get you out of there,” he spoke through the hole.

“I know.” 

Bojan looked scared, the first time he had seen him truly scared, not even the wolf attack having left such a mark on his face.

“Have they done anything to you?”

“No. We came unarmed. They just locked me here and told me I shall be tried for treason when we get back. Apparently, I broke a good few dozen rules by going on that hunting trip with you.”

“It will all be all right. I promise you,” he said resolutely, even if he knew there was no certainty. 

Determined to get at least this thind done, damned be uncertainty, he resumed breaking down the wall, enlarging the hole in hope that once big enough, Bojan could slide through it.

Inside the pod, Bojan started to get dressed, the cold was already biting as it conquered the small space. He had only the wolfskin suit, and he put it on as fast as he could, shivering. 

 

*

 

“Maxwell, aren't you going to do something, that guy is destroying the dome!” Martin wondered.

“Be calm. I have a plan. Each pod is perfectly isolated, so if he puts a hole in Bojan's, we're still safe here.”

They were sitting in the common room that on each side connected to the individual pods each had for privacy purposes.

“But he's going to break Bojan free. Bojan will become one of them.” Martin continued.

Maxwell felt a little annoyed with Martin's incessant questioning. He pushed Lionel from his lap and got up, began pacing.

“I cannot harm the Tribesman. It is against the Treaty and it would start another war. We cannot afford that. We cannot afford to aggravate the Tribesmen, hence why we didn't bother to impose ourselves and our initial mission on them. The orders are very clear, but there is no reason for me to spell it out for you. Now shut up and let me listen to their progress.”

There was silence for a while, only the drumming noise of battered carbon fibre filling the stale air in the dome. Then Lionel spoke.

“So, are you going to allow Bojan to defect?”

“Jesus Lionel! Will you two stop asking so many questions!!?” Maxwell sighed. “No, I will not. I have no authority over Zlatan and I must refrain from getting into a scuffle with him or hurt him. But I am Bojan's superior and I have the authority to kill him should he leave the HQ without permission. Which is exactly what I shall do.”

And from one hidden pocket of his indoor warmsuit, he pulled a small cylinder which Martin and Lionel immediately recognized as the Intelligence squad weapon.

“You....you are...” Martin started, but stopped immediately, clamping a hand over his open mouth.

Lionel stared briefly at Maxwell. He had suspected something along the lines of Max being really in charge all along, even before the new orders that had named him Commander had being wired in. So he said nothing.

“Now, once they are out and running, we're going to have only one chance to take Bojan out, because if we follow them towards Shangri-la, Zlatan might fire back and the war would be imminent, so I want you both to go into your pods and stay there until I give the all clear.”

“What about you?” Lionel whimpered, a little alarmed of what might happen to his lover.

“Don't worry, I'll just open the door and fire from here. I'll be OK.” he whispered back, patting Lionel's cheek. “Now do what I asked.”

 

*

 

Forcing his body through the not wide enough opening, Bojan was birthed into the free world, as he stumbled onto the cold hard snow. His unprotected hands stung and his whole face grew numb, even if he had had the time to adjust to the cold while Zlatan had been breaking the walls of the dome.

“Give me your hand and prepare for the run of your life.”

Running as fast as he could, which was still a few times too slow for Zlatan and his long legs, Bojan would've lagged behind had it not been for the hand pulling him, forcing him to keep the pace. He was struggling to move his legs faster and faster, aware that this was his great run for freedom, that at the end of it all, there was a better life and a better world and love, so much love...

And then he felt the hit, the hiss of burnt animal skin and of his own flesh, right between his shoulderblades and he leaped twice more before collapsing face first into the snow.

Zlatan felt the handgrip loosening and looked behind him, seeing his boy fallen and the door to the dome closing shut. Roaring with anger and frustration, he picked up the bundle Bojan was in his arms, he resumed his run towards safety, towards Shangri-la.

 

*

 

“Why would they do this?” 

The hut was warmer than usual, as Zlatan pealed the soaked pieces of the jumpsuit off Bojan's skin. Cutting small pieces, to make it easier to take it off, he had revealed the deep gash the weapon had caused.

Bojan was battling to stay conscious. He had known all along this would happen, that they would not allow him to flee just like that. But he wouldn't have had it any other way.

“We're not allowed to leave the City, Zlatan. No-one is allowed to leave....” the confession came mingled with yelps of pain. 

“Don't speak, it will all be OK.”

“It won't. I've seen wounds like this I've caused wounds like this and they don't mend....” he wasn't feeling pain, only his life draining from his body, leaving him as seconds and minutes passed. 

He smiled and touched Zlatan's cheek. 

“Before I go..I want you...”

“You aren't going anywhere. I'll call the doctor, he will help...” Zlatan sounded harsh, in his desperation.

He could not watch Bojan die, knowing it was him to blame for it. Attracting him into a game the boy was not allowed to play.

“I am. The doctor won't be able to do anything. Just steal time from us.”

They looked at each other and Zlatan understood Bojan wanted them to be together, even for the little while he still had.

“I want you...” he started and stopped, unable to say those words without them sounding odd, false, fabricated. “I want you to make love to me.”

“Oh Bojan....” his cool hand touched the boy's pale cheeks.

“Please. I need this. Not like before. I need to feel you inside me. To know it was all real, between us. The real thing. Am I too selfish if I want proof, Zlatan?”

“This can alter your condition further.”

Bojan gripped Zlatan's hand and pulled him closer. Looking at him as seriously as he could, he explained.

“Nothing and no-one's going to stop me from dying. Grant my deathbed wish, I beg of you.”

At first, he hadn't wanted to tell Zlatan that he was surely dying, seeing how shaken the older man was, but he had no choice, not if he wanted to end this on a high, the best possible high. 

Suppressing a sob, Zlatan leaned in and kissed him, as tender as he could. He would've never wanted their first time to happen in such circumstances, especially since he wanted to give Bojan a sense of belonging first, a reason to trust him, but he could not refuse him either.

“Let me bandage you first. Then...”

There was no then. There was only now, now when he was running his fingers in Bojan's silky hair, now when he was cleaning the wound with plenty of warm water, now when he was wrapping the dressing gauze around his torso, his fingers trailing softly on the exposed, warm skin.

After they were done, Bojan rested on one side and Zlatan curled around him, caressing his shoulder affectionately. He kissed his neck tenderly, just breathing onto him.

“I want you to make me feel good.” Bojan whispered.

He was ready to die, but he first wanted to experience the one thing that had always missed in his life. Given the situation, he considered himself lucky to be able to do this, even if only once, before he departed.

“Are you feeling strong enough? I don't want to hurt you. God, that's the last thing I would want to do....”

“You could only wash my pain away with pleasure, please...I need this. And you needed it too...”

His voice was soft and compelling and Zlatan had to admit he had indeed waited for so long to meet someone that would get past his abrasive personality. He snaked an arm round Bojan's abdomen and placed the palm of his hand on his taut, warm skin. 

Bojan knew he could not rush Zlatan, that the man was different from him, had had a different upbringing and would feel used if he was requested to just stick it it, but on the other hand, he knew best between the two that time was ticking.

“I want you to empty your mind of what you've seen on my back. I want you to forget all the blood and see just me, the one who wants you more than anything, the one who loves you, Zlatan. Can you do this, for me?”

It was unlikely that he had ever cried before in his life, but there was a first for anything, Zlatan thought, as he cleared his throat in order to not sound like he was choking on his tears.

“I can. Sure.” 

He wanted to do this properly, so patting Bojan on the shoulder and kissing those sweet lips, he got up and looked for anything he could use as lubricant. Finding something acceptable, he stripped, allowing Bojan to look at him, the boy staring at the tattoos he had uncovered with widening eyes.

“Only the greatest warriors have tattoos...” Bojan whispered. “Only the best of them have so many...”

Zlatan shrugged, almost flustered.

“They’re just a sign of vanity, the tribes are at peace....”

Bojan chuckled, amused that such a sin could be found even amongst the pure people of the Tribes. He awaited his lover to return to the bed before turning his head to look him in the eye.

“I don't want you to be afraid of what may come.”

“There is one moment, and only you and me,” came the reply.

“Exactly. Make love to me. That's all I want. That's all I need.”

It happened slowly, slower than Bojan had ever been fucked. Slower than Zlatan had ever fucked, both trying to suspend time with their lovemaking, each unable to pick up the pace and go for it, for the encompassing orgasm that would also bring one to the precipice of death. The buildup took ages, unlike their short termed love story, until it was unbearable to hold on for longer, until their bodies cried out almost unwittingly. Then bliss settled in their bodies, taking over with commading force. 

Intertwined, they remained for a few minutes, catching their breaths as reality blurred outside the bed they were in.

“Now sleep. You will feel better tomorrow.” Zlatan assured him in a tender voice.

“Tomorrow.....” Bojan teared up, smiling at the misplaced hopefulness. 

In a way, it was unfair that he was going to die just when he had found true happiness. But on the other hand, maybe he would've never been able to experience this beautiful moment with the man he loved had he not been close to the finish line.

So, in the end, it didn't matter that he was dying, because he had known love. Thus, instead of explaining Zlatan that there was not going to be any tomorrow for him, he pulled him in a kiss.

“Just remember, this winter is not eternal, Zlatan. You have already brought spring in my heart and I know that one day, one day the whole world would be as happy as I am now. ”

Covering Bojan with most care, Zlatan pondered at the boy's words. Yes, he was right. Winter would soon end. And he would make sure that happened.


End file.
